


Until That Day

by lalakate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Family, Mail Order Bride, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 18:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13576902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalakate/pseuds/lalakate
Summary: A widower in Missouri places an advertisement for a wife. Both he and the woman who answer it get far more than they ever thought possible.





	1. Chapter 1

_**A widower and father in good health, of decent appearance and substantial means seeks a wife. She must be intelligent, in good health and be willing to become a mother to two young children. If interested, please write to the following address:** _

* * *

 

Dear Mr. Locksley,

I am writing in response to your ad which ran in the _Philadelphia Gazette_ two days ago in which you expressed an interest in finding a wife. My name is Regina Mills. I am unmarried, mother to a seven year old son, and have no remaining attachments to Philadelphia as both of my parents are now deceased. I would have no difficulty in acting as a mother to your children if you would be willing to act as a father to my son. I am in good health, am fairly well educated, enjoy reading, playing the piano and spinnet and do not shy away from hard work.

If you believe we could be compatible in marriage, please respond to this letter. If I hear nothing, I shall assume you have found someone else with whom to share your life. If that is the case, I wish you and your children great joy.

Sincerely,

Regina Mills

* * *

 

Dear Mrs. Mills,

I was honored to receive your reply to my query, and the fact that you are already a mother makes me believe that we might get on well together. You stated in your letter that your boy was seven years old. which means he would be the oldest and would therefore bear some limited responsibilities on the farm. My children are still too young to do so, for my son is three, and my daughter is but four months old.

I must be completely honest with you, Miss Mills, for it is only fair that before you accept my proposal you become aware of facts which may well cause you to decide against me. My children have two different mothers. Roland's mother was my beloved wife who sadly passed away hours after he was born due to complications during his delivery. But my daughter's mother is a singer who passed through Springfield with her touring company several months ago. I was weak and lonely and missing my wife, and the two of us engaged in the sort of relations of which I'm not proud. I thought I'd never see her again, but four months ago she showed up on my doorstep and handed me a baby she claimed to be my daughter. I have neither heard from nor seen her since, nor do I expect to ever hear from her again.

So you see, my daughter is illegitimate, but I love her every bit as much as I do my son. I cannot fault you if you prefer to end our correspondence at this point, and I wish both you and your son much happiness no matter what you decide to do.

Yours truly,

Robin Locksley

* * *

 

Dear Mr. Locksley,

I must thank you for your honesty, and I am honored that you openly shared the truth of your daughter's parentage with me. As you have been so forthcoming with your past, it is only right that I respond in kind.

When I say I am unmarried, it does not mean that I am a widow. I have never been married, not even to Henry's father. I was young when I met him, and I believed he meant to propose marriage to me, which was a rather foolish notion on my part as his financial circumstances were considerably better than my own. He became engaged to another woman far more suitable according to his family's standards just as I discovered that I was with child, and nothing I said could persuade him to change his course. My mother disowned me, but my father made certain that my son Henry and I were provided for financially, and he sent me to live with his sister, my aunt, in the city of Philadelphia where I have lived ever since. Here, it is assumed that I am a widow and that Henry's father was an honorable man. I pray that my son never has to learn otherwise.

If the truth of my past is too difficult for you to accept, I certainly understand and will not hold you to any sort of understanding as we have yet to reach one. However, if you would still like to consider pursuing marriage with me, please know that I shall never treat your daughter any differently than I would my own son. All children deserve to be loved, regardless of the failures of their parents.

May you and your children have a Merry Christmas.

Sincerely,

Regina Mills

* * *

 

Dear Miss Mills,

I hope you and Henry had a delightful Christmas. The children and I enjoyed our holiday immensely.

May I state just how sorry I am that you were treated so abominably by a man with no sense of honor or responsibility. A man who refuses to care for his own children deserves absolutely no regard, in my opinion, and I am thankful that your father saw to it that you and Henry were sheltered and cared for in the wake of such difficulties. The world can be harsh on unwed mothers, one reason I'm certain Elizabeth was left to my keeping by her mother. If Zelena had desired marriage, I would have honored her request, even though we barely knew each other, but she preferred the life she that she had, and I had no right to keep her from returning to it.

Regardless of the circumstances of her birth, my life is all the richer because of my daughter's presence in it. I will say, however, that raising two children alone is a rather daunting task. I would not be able to do so if not for the assistance of our late pastor's widow who take _s_ it upon herself to cook for us and care for the children while I am working the farm. I owe Mrs. Lucas a debt of gratitude I know I shall never be able to repay, but my children need more than a caregiver. Roland and Liza are in need of a mother, and I am becoming more and more convinced that that mother should be you.

If you are still willing, perhaps we could arrange for you and Henry to travel by railway here to Missouri in the spring. It would not be wise to attempt such a journey during the winter as we are having more snow than usual this year. After meeting me, if you are still inclined towards marriage, arrangements can be made. If not, I'll cover the cost of returning you and Henry to Pennsylvania.

If I may be so bold, in your next letter, would you describe your appearance? I'm only of average height, I'm afraid. My hair is fair but graying, and I prefer to wear a short beard. My eyes are blue, as are Liza's, but Roland's are as dark as his mother's, as is his hair. I fear we are both desperately in need of a trim, and I do promise to at least try and look presentable when you and Henry arrive in Springdale.

Yours truly,

Robin

* * *

 

Dear Mr. Locksley,

Spring sounds like a lovely time to travel, and it will be here before we know it. Henry and I actually spied a robin yesterday, and there is something so promising in that, wouldn't you agree? We can travel to Missouri in early April if such a time frame proves to be agreeable to you. Of course, I'll await word from you before making any sort of arrangements.

Roland and Elizabeth are lovely names, and I look forward to meeting your children. It's sounds as if Roland and I might resemble each other somewhat, for my hair and eyes are dark, too. Henry calls them black, and although that would be an accurate description of my hair, it is a bit of an exaggeration when it comes to my eyes. Henry's hair is brown, his eyes are green, and he has freckles that become more pronounced in the sun. If he doesn't stop growing, he will outgrow me soon, for I am not very tall. Unfortunately, I have some gray hairs, as well.

Henry wanted me to ask about your farm, in particular about any animals you might raise or keep. I should warn you that he is especially excited about the possibility of horses and dogs. I myself wondered if you would mind if I brought along my spinnet. I find that playing it brings me great pleasure, and I have begun teaching Henry how to play. Perhaps I could also teach Roland and Elizabeth when they are older.

Sincerely,

Regina Mills

* * *

 

Dear Regina,

I hope you are not offended by my use of your first name. It's such a lovely name, one I find myself repeating to myself and to my children as the time for your arrival draws nearer. Roland is beside himself with excitement. He cannot wait to meet his new mother and big brother. I hope it is alright that he already thinks of the two of you in this manner, even though we are not yet married. I myself am growing excited as the day approaches, although I would be lying if I claimed not to be nervous. I am slightly terrified yet hopeful due to the circumstances of our impending marriage, and I suspect you may feel the same way.

Of course you may bring your spinnet. It would be lovely to have music in the house again. Although my late wife Marian could not play an instrument, she did love to sing, and Roland seems to be following in her footsteps, even without her example here for him to follow. He constantly sings the hymns from church and the songs that Mrs. Lucas has taught him. Perhaps you will be able to expand his repertoire. Of course Liza is too young to sing, but I must warn you that she is in possession of quite a healthy set of lungs. She can now sit up by herself and crawl, which keeps both Mrs. Lucas and me on our toes.

Do you by any chance know of a miracle cure for the pain of cutting teeth? If so, please pack it and bring it with you. I'll pay extra for it if necessary.

We've put a second bed in Roland's room for Henry, and Mrs. Lucas is making him his own quilt to cover it. I truly don't know how I would have survived the past few years without her, and I'm certain the two of you will get along splendidly. Liza's crib is still in my bedroom, but we could move it once you arrive if you prefer her to actually sleep in her nursery. It's been easier for me to have her in the same room with me, and there are many nights when Roland crawls in beside me after I'm asleep. I've been speaking to him about how he cannot continue to do this once you and Henry arrive, for it would be too crowded with three of us trying to sleep in one bed. He seems to be content with the fact that Henry will be with him, but I cannot promise that he will refrain from attempting to sneak into our bed like a thief in the night.

I hope you are not averse to the idea of us sharing a bed. I know we have yet to meet, but in desiring a wife, I am desiring a life partner as well as a mother for Roland and Liza. I promise to cherish you as a man should cherish his wife, Regina, and I shall protect you and Henry with my very life. You shall never experience pain at my hand, and I promise to never give you cause to fear me. That being said, I do desire companionship, and I hope that is something you desire, as well. I am still having difficulty believing we are but a few weeks away from meeting in person. It will be wonderful to finally put a face with the person with whom I am to share the rest of my life. I hope my face will not be too off-putting for you.

Arrangements for your travel have now been made, and I hope the tickets are to your liking. The children and I shall be at the train station to meet you and Henry unless unforeseen circumstances should prevent us from being there. If that occurs, I shall of course make arrangements for you to be safely transported to my home. And please inform Henry that we have three horses and two dogs.

Yours truly,

Robin

* * *

 

Dear Robin, I pray this letter reaches you before Henry and I do, but if it does not, no harm will be done. Of course it is alright for you to call me Regina. I'm glad you think the name is pretty, although I must admit that I have spent most of my life despising it. Perhaps I shall find it more pleasant hearing it voiced by you.

The tickets you purchased for Henry and me are more than satisfactory, and we are now in the process of packing what we need and selling what we do not. He wants to bring his old wooden train set so that he can share it with Roland, but I fear it will take up an entire bag itself. I'm bringing a doll for Liza, one I believe she may like when she grows a bit older, as well as a rattle Henry used when he was cutting teeth. That being said, I found that allowing him to gnaw on a cool, damp cloth helped ease his discomfort more than anything. Perhaps allowing Liza to do so will help her, as well.

As for our sleeping arrangements, I assumed that we would be sharing a bedroom and thus a bed, and I am comfortable with said arrangements. I also seek companionship from a spouse, and if I believed I needed to be fearful of being alone with you, I would certainly not be travelling to Missouri in three weeks time to become your wife. Perhaps we can decide the ultimate whereabouts of Liza's crib after Henry and I have moved in and are settled. I do not wish to disrupt the routines you have already established in your home, and I want Roland to feel welcome into our bed if he becomes frightened at night. Henry slept in my bed with me until he was four years old and decided that he was too old to share a room with his mother. That being said, I know we shall also require time alone as husband and wife, and I do think it is necessary for children to learn to respect certain boundaries.

Forgive me, I must end this letter now as my aunt is leaving to post a letter for herself, and I want this message to arrive in Springdale before I do. It is odd to know that the next time I speak with you, it will be in person. I hope I am not a disappointment, and know that I am eager to meet you and your children.

Sincerely,

Regina

* * *

 

Dear Robin,

I know it is silly to write to you when I shall meet you before I finish this letter, but writing to you and reading your letters have brought me such joy over the past several months that I decided to do it one last time. So here you are-a letter you will more than likely never read.

I'm on the train now, and it's proving difficult to write with the constant rocking and Henry sleeping on my shoulder. But I'll do my best to capture my thoughts as they are at this moment. I'm terrified. I'm elated. And I have no idea what to expect when we arrive in Springdale.

Actually, that's not true, for I have many expectations when it comes to you Robin. I expect that you are a loving father. I expect that you are a gentle man. I expect that you are well read and that you hold firm opinions but are still open to listening to the thoughts of those around you. I expect that you cannot cook but that you run your farm wisely and efficiently. I expect that I shall enjoy being married to you and I do hope that you will enjoy being married to me.

We are pulling into the station now, and Henry is beginning to wake up. I'm looking out of the window, wondering if you are here waiting for me, wondering if you were able to bring the children, wondering what you actually look like. Wait. Is that you? I believe it must be, for you are holding the hand of a little boy with dark curls-Roland, I assume. And there is Mrs. Lucas holding Baby Liza to her chest. Why didn't you tell me that she has red hair? She's beautiful, just perfect.

And there you are. You are far more handsome than you let on in your letters. You are beautiful in fact, and wait-yes-I believe you just spotted me.

And you're smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

April 5, 1867

Dearest Regina,

I should find it odd, I suppose, that I am sitting at my desk journaling about you rather than the day's happenings on the farm. I write down even the most mundane details each night so I can refer to them to assist me in planting and managing the farm as best as I can. But today was anything but mundane. For today, you officially stepped off of a train and into my life.

When my eyes first found yours, I fear my jaw may have dropped open, for you are an incredibly beautiful woman. I am honestly amazed that I managed not to make a complete fool of myself when I first kissed your hand, or perhaps I did and you are just too kind to allow me to realize it. I expected an attractive woman with a kind heart and dark hair to arrive in Springdale today, but instead it was you-a woman whose eyes enchanted me the moment they made contact with my own, a woman whose voice made me feel like a young man on the verge of his first love, a woman who has already shown herself to be stunning in every way.

How odd it is that you do not seem to realize this, even as every man's head turned in your direction as we rode through town on our way to the farm. The fact that you consider yourself simply ordinary only adds to your charm, however, and I am more than willing to become the envy of every man in the state of Missouri from the moment I am able to call you my wife.

My wife. What an extraordinary thought.

Roland already adores you. I hope you know that. The moment you leaned down to shake his hand, he somehow trusted you, and it shook me to the core. I thought he never would go to sleep tonight as he continued to regale me with reminder after reminder of your kindness, your smile, and the fact that you look like him. I had no idea how much that would mean to him, but the fact that your hair and eyes are nearly identical in color to his own has thrilled his soul, and he even told me that he believes you were hand-picked by his guardian angel to become his new mother. I plan on thanking said angel in my prayers tonight.

How odd that the house feels emptier without you in it when you stood inside it but a few hours. How strange that my bed feels larger and the sheets colder, even though you've never lain with me under it's quilts. I know you are so close, just over the ridge at Mrs. Lucas's house, but that fact only makes it more difficult to be away from you, for you are just out of reach, and today I discovered I rather liked the feel of your hand in my own and your body standing just beside mine. It felt right. It felt easy. And I now believe more than ever that asking you to marry me may be one of the most reckless yet intelligent things I have ever done in my life.

I hope you sleep well, Dearest Regina. I believe you may dance your way through my dreams tonight, and I must say, that is a lovely prospect, indeed. It will certainly make the morning all the more beautiful.

* * *

 

April 5

I wish my hands would stop shaking. It is rather difficult to put my feelings on paper when my own body refuses to cooperate with me. I am still giddy, Robin, still giddy and foolish and as nervous as a cat, as Mrs. Lucas would say. Today I finally met you, and you took my breath away.

I am still not certain how I managed to converse with any intelligence at all this afternoon. My mouth was so dry, my tongue so thick, and my heart was racing so far ahead of my mind, it is truly a wonder I was capable of stringing three words together. Your smile enchanted me in a way I never believed would be possible again, and when you took my hand for the first time, when you kissed it through my glove, something stirred inside of me, something new and fresh that made me actually feel young and attractive.

I am still both elated and terrified, as I was on the train. This is real, now, the fact that we are to be married, the fact that I shall become a mother to your precious children, the fact that you will become Henry's father-the only father he has ever known. You impressed him today, and that is not necessarily an easy thing to do. I nearly cried as he began to blossom under your attention, as he opened up and asked questions about you and the farm, as he allowed you to show him around and introduce him to your neighbors. He is not used to having a man in his life, for the two of us have been on our own since before he was born. Yet you treated him as no man ever has, like a boy worthy of having a father, like a young man you would be proud to call a son.

I must stop writing about this, or my tears will wash away the ink from the page. But tonight before bed, he told me that he now believes that having a father, a brother and sister might be a nice change, after all. I tucked him in, went to the room Mrs. Lucas has so kindly provided me and cried for twenty minutes. I am not a person who cries easily, Robin, but I have shed more than my fair share of tears today. You noticed them when Roland hugged me goodbye this evening, I am certain, although you did not see the ones that fell when you took Henry to meet the horses while I held Baby Liza in my arms. Watching you with the two boys while your precious little girl nuzzled her face into my shoulder, well, it was almost more than I could bear and so much more than I ever believed possible.

You see, I never thought I'd have this: a husband, another son, a daughter. When I was sent to live with my Aunt Mary Margaret as Henry grew inside me, I honestly believed my chances of ever marrying an honorable man had disappeared forever. My son became the one light in an otherwise dark and lonely existence, and I would be lying if I stated that I carried no bitterness in my heart over this fact. It threatened to consume me for many years after Henry's birth until my aunt reminded me that I was responsible for two lives now rather than one, and that even the feelings I strove to keep hidden from my son's eyes would bleed through without my knowledge. I vowed then to keep those dark emotions at bay, to bury them as deeply as I could, to simply blot out all unnecessary emotions so I could focus on being the parent Henry needed.

But when I stepped off of the train today, when you took my hand and shook Henry's, when you smiled that smile of yours that allows your dimples to peek through, a piece of my heart came back to life, a piece that has been hard, black and broken for longer than I can remember, a piece that reminds me that I am still a woman. It tingles inside of me now, it even burns a bit, and it makes me as jumpy as that overgrown puppy of yours-Hood-the one who nearly knocked me down today while trying to lick my face. But perhaps I need to be knocked over, to be pushed back into the land of the living where circumstances are unpredictable and emotions overwhelm. Perhaps you are the missing piece my soul has been craving, my second chance at a happy ending I am not certain I actually deserve. But Henry deserves such an outcome. You do. Your children do. And if I can be a part of fulfilling said happiness for all of you, I refuse to let fear keep me from jumping into this new realm we will create together with both feet.

For me, Dearest Robin, spring has now arrived in more ways than one.

* * *

 

April 7, 1867

Dearest Regina,

I have never been stared at so openly in church as I was this morning. Well, I suppose that is not entirely true. The first Sunday I arrived with Liza in my arms, I felt like a glaring outcast among my own congregation. That is, until Mrs. Lucas deliberately arose from her pew on the front row and walked all the way to the back to sit beside me and the children. It is rare that a congregation will blatantly buck the will of their late minister's wife, and so that Sunday, Mrs. Lucas single-handedly gave my Liza acceptance into this community by simply accepting her into her arms. You can understand why I think so highly of her.

This Sunday, however, you single-handedly made me feel like the most blessed man in all of Missouri. I felt at least a foot taller as we entered the church with your arm tucked into my own, and the moment Liza reached for you, I thought my heart might burst out of my chest. I cannot tell you what Reverend Hopper preached about this morning, although I would venture to guess that it came from the Bible. But I do know that I left church this morning feeling more complete than I have since Marian died.

How is it you have bewitched me so thoroughly and completely through a few letters and a three day acquaintance? How is it you have already stolen a portion of my heart and made it your own? For you have, Dearest Regina, make no mistake. When I see Roland crawl onto your lap, when I watch as you stroke his hair and tell him what a smart boy he is, when I observe you kissing Liza's cheeks as if she had been born from your body rather than from the womb of a woman I barely know, I feel myself sinking into something I believed I would never experience again, something as exciting as a new adventure and as familiar as a warm quilt, one I want to wrap around every part of myself and nuzzle into forever.

I hope you take no offense to the fact that these feelings scare the hell out of me. But I'll be damned if I'm going to let fears of losing something so precious keep me from taking a chance on what I sense is beginning to grow between us. We've both been hurt, you and I, both experienced losses on levels that leave a person fundamentally changed. Yet here we are, speaking openly of our pasts, getting to know each other and each other's children, reaching out with hesitant touches that seem to ignite a mutual desire for deeper contact and the promise of forever.

I want to give you forever, Regina, to draw out that elusive but satisfying smile I now see every time I close my eyes. I want to memorize the details of your soul, to map out the planes of your body, to hold you close enough to chase away any mutual fears or misgivings, to kiss you until the taste of your lips is imprinted into my memory. For when you allowed me to kiss you this evening before we parted ways, I knew I was eternally lost to you.

You've lit a fire inside me, Regina, in a place I believed only ashes and dry twigs continued to exist, a fire I hope continues to grow and blossom into a warm, sustaining, life-giving flame. So there it is, the truth of my feelings, the jumbled mess of emotions I'm experiencing right now as I attempt to sort out my thoughts and arrange them in some sort of order. Perhaps my life has had too much order as of late. Perhaps in the midst of raising children and tending to a farm, I've forgotten that underneath all the trappings and responsibilities of life that I'm still a man-a man who is capable of falling hard and fast for an incredible woman.

I can only hope that perhaps, you are beginning to feel the same way about me.

* * *

 

April 9

I am sitting here writing when I should be in bed, but I must confess, Robin Locksley, that your kisses are giving me a dreadful case of insomnia. When I stare at the ceiling, I see your face. If I close my eyes, I feel the gentle press of your lips on my own. I lie down, and I wonder how it would feel to open my mouth to you, to allow you inside my body as well as into my soul, a prospect which terrifies me yet which I find both irresistible and tantalizing. For you have managed to sidestep barriers and break into areas of my heart I had previously locked away, areas still raw yet tender from disuse, areas that draw back instinctively when someone dares to venture too close. Yet you handle my misgivings with gentle reassurances. You smile, and I wonder how it is that a man such as you has come into my life.

For I am damaged goods, Robin, a woman bedded and discarded and left to raise a child on her own, a woman disowned by her own mother, a girl who will never be accepted back into the circle of her own family and who hears whispers uttered loud enough to sting, a woman who quite honestly behaved completely out of character when she responded to your advertisement for a wife in the newspaper. I am still not sure what prompted me to act in such a manner, but something propelled me to pen that first letter to you and march it directly to the post before I could change my mind. Aunt Mary Margaret credits my impulsiveness to fate, telling me that perhaps we were destined to be soulmates, you and I. I stopped believing in such trivialities as love at first sight, soulmates and happy endings when Henry's father dismissed me from his life. Perhaps I was wrong in doing so.

Do you believe in such things as soulmates? I would dearly love to ask your opinion, but I won't, for we do not know each other well enough yet to engage in such discussions. Of course, the fact that I shall be sharing your bed in less than a fortnight should lend itself to such fanciful talk, I daresay, yet the thought of baring my body to you is less frightening still than the thought of baring my soul to your scrutiny. For my body is relatively undamaged save the tell-tale signs of giving birth. My soul, however...that is another story.

Will you still find me beautiful when you uncover the scars of my past? Will you still consider yourself lucky to be marrying me as you observe how difficult it is for me to make friends? Would you have still asked me to come to Missouri had I shared with you the fact that the midwife who delivered Henry told me I would more than likely never be able to bear another child? I know I should tell you about this, know it's wrong of me to keep such knowledge hidden, but when you so readily accepted me in spite of my past, when you showed yourself open to becoming Henry's father, I did not want to jeopardize this chance even further. I rationalize my omission by telling myself that three children are plenty, that between the two of us, we already have two sons and a daughter, so why should it matter if we are unable to conceive another baby. I tell myself that it doesn't matter to me, for I made peace with the fact that Henry would likely be my only child before he drew his first breath. But now after meeting you, after tasting your kisses holding your hand, an ache is growing inside of me, one the size of my womb that nags at my silence and makes me doubt both myself and the possibility of a happy future for the five of us.

But there are five of us, Robin, not to mention Hood, Lady and the puppies that will be arriving sooner rather than later. Shouldn't that be plenty? It is certainly far more than I ever believed possible in my own life. I hope and pray with every fiber of my being that our family just as we are will be more than enough for you, for I cannot stand the thought of losing you-not when you've only just come into my life. You have changed everything, I'll have you know.

How is it that simply having my hand within yours makes me forget my past, even if only for a few stolen moments? How is it the scarlet "A" my mother metaphorically carved into my chest seems non-existent when you cup my face within your hands? When you look into my eyes, my legs tremble, and I fear sometimes that I shall simply collapse into a heap of nothingness, thus causing you to see me without the enchantment of newness that clings to our relationship right now.

What would you do if that were to happen? Would you say nothing and act as though everything were fine, even though the sparks of desire had burned themselves out and all that was left to you was decency and honor? Or would said honor compel you to tell me the truth, thus forcing me to either make the decision to leave you or to live in a loveless marriage with a man who stayed with me out of pity? Either option leaves me cold, Robin, sick to my stomach, empty and shaking as badly as I did when my mother took the belt to me as a child. I do not understand why a man such as yourself would choose such a broken thing as me, and a part of me is still certain that one morning you will wake up and realize that in marrying me, you have made a terrible mistake. After all, you could do so much better.

But there is the tiniest sliver of hope inside of me, one I am not certain how to entertain, for as I contemplate getting back on a train and returning to my familiar existence in Pennsylvania where dreams do not tantalize and desire does not stir, it whispers that perhaps, just perhaps happiness with you and our children is within my grasp, that perhaps you are exactly the sort of man you seem to be, that perhaps in choosing me, you are making a decision that you will never come to regret. If any of these outcomes are possible, I would be the world's biggest fool to walk away from you, even though I fear I am perhaps a bigger fool for staying.

For I am staying, Robin. God help me, I am staying.

* * *

 

April 11, 1867

Dearest Regina, If I had any lingering doubts as to my desire to make you my wife, they were effectively silenced when Mrs. Lucas informed me how you defended my daughter today in town. I am sorry you were subjected to the ugliness of Mrs. Tremaine and her two daughters while visiting Nolan's Mercantile, and I fear that perhaps I should have warned you of their malice towards me when you first arrived. You see, Mrs. Tremaine evidently decided that I was to marry one of her daughters shortly after Marian's death. In fact, Mrs. Lucas informs me that this decision was made only weeks after my wife's passing when the mere thought of marrying again was beyond my scope of emotional capability. I then discovered that while I was still buried in grief, Mrs. Tremaine took it upon herself to make it very clear to everyone in town that I was "off limits" to any eligible young women save her daughters. After I was made aware of such facts, I made it clear to Mrs. Tremaine in no uncertain terms that I had no intention of marrying again, and that if I ever changed my mind, I would certainly not choose to bind myself to her or anyone connected to her household.

To say I made an enemy that day would be a bit of an understatement.

Suffice it to say that the three Tremaine women did their best to make my life hell when Liza unexpectedly became a part of my family. They attempted to have my children and me thrown out of the church, campaigned to have my farm goods and livestock banned from local businesses due to my "lack of moral fiber", and made derogatory comments about my daughter whenever they saw me in town. Thankfully, their malice bore little to no fruit, and as I received far more support than avarice from my neighbors, they eventually gave up and began to leave me alone. Then you arrived, adding insult to injury in their minds, no doubt, and their campaign to make me sorry for foiling their plans seems to have been taken up once more. That they referred to Liza as a bastard and a motherless brat in your hearing does not surprise me. But the ferocity with which you turned on them and effectively put them in their places-that was a lovely surprise, indeed.

What was it you said? "I have no idea to whom you are referring, for the only brats to be found in this store are your own daughters, and they, unfortunately, are not motherless." When Mrs. Tremaine countered with, "So the child of one whore is now to be raised by another?", Mrs. Lucas tells me that she was ready to rise up to your defense, yet you stood right in that old bat's face, pointed a finger at her and announced for all to hear: "You can call me whatever names you like. But my daughter is off-limits."

_My daughter_. You called Liza your own.

Oh, the smile that lit up Mrs. Lucas's face as she recited the encounter for me, the excitement with which Roland bounced into the house to tell me how his new Mama put that mean old lady in her place-I wish I'd been there to see it for myself. Yet I do not believe that my heart could have swelled any larger than it did hearing the story second-hand. You've already not only accepted my children but have claimed a child conceived under the worst possible circumstances and legitimized her. You've given her a mother, just as you're becoming one to Roland, a mother I know of whom Marian would approve. I am sorry, however, that today's encounter led to a headache that withheld you from our dinner table this evening. I must say that the room felt far lonelier than it has since your arrival, and I thought Roland never would go to sleep as you weren't here to give him his goodnight kiss.

As I rocked Liza to sleep, I wondered what it will be like to share such tasks with you every night-to watch you tuck Roland and Henry into their beds, to hear you sing to Liza as you already do when you think no one is listening, to be able to kiss you freely and feel you warm and snug beside me in my bed. I wish I could rub your back and temples tonight, and I long to soothe the pain brought on by vain women who are decidedly beneath you. For they are beneath you, Dearest Regina. I pray you never doubt the truth of that statement.

Finally, as for daring to refer to you as a whore, believe me when I tell you that tomorrow she shall receive a visit from me she will not soon forget, no matter how badly she may wish to do so.

* * *

 

April 12

I cried myself to sleep last night. My misery was not due to Mrs. Tremaine, however. I've dealt with people just like her all of my life, people who believe it within their rights to judge children by their parentage and label anyone who dares to stray from their rigid moral code as beneath them in every way possible. During the months and years that I struggled with feelings of self-loathing and insecurity as an unwed mother, Aunt Mary Margaret would tell me repeatedly that nobody was either all evil or all good, that we were all a mixture of light and darkness and that anyone who believed otherwise had the sense of a dilapidated fence post. I gleaned more wisdom in the eight years I lived with her than a lifetime spent with my mother, which is rather tragic in its own way.

So you see, Robin, Mrs. Tremaine's opinions do not matter to me, just as my own mother's carry weight with me no longer. In fact, if I somehow ever earn her approval, I shall wonder what in God's name I've done wrong. I do hate the fact, however, that there are those like her who will undoubtedly make life difficult for Liza through no fault of her own. They are the same sort of people who judged Henry because of my indiscretion and his father's apathy, the same sort of people who dismiss those born into less than ideal circumstances in order to bolster their own sense of self worth. This type of prejudice makes no sense whatsoever, for none of us are given a choice of parentage, of when, where or to whom we are to be born. Jesus himself was given life by a woman who became with child before she was properly wed and was raised by a man who struggled to provide for his family. If God allowed his own son to be born into such circumstances, I cannot fathom that He would judge any other children in this world over circumstances far beyond their control. After all, there are no illegitimate children-only illegitimate parents. At least, that's what Aunt Mary Margaret says, and it's a saying I've taken to heart.

She's the only person I miss from Pennsylvania, the only regret I have in leaving, and I find myself desiring her counsel at the moment as I try to muster up the courage to say to you what I must, regardless of the outcome. For you must be told that I am more than likely now a barren woman, and it is this predicament which reduced me to the state in which I found myself last night, a sobbing mess of a woman who could not even bring herself to face you from across the dinner table. I am not proud of my cowardice, believe me, but the strength needed to face rejection from Mrs. Tremaine is nothing in comparison with the strength I require to face possible rejection from you. How ironic it would be if you sent me packing after learning that I can give you no more children. Then I would truly be on the receiving end of censure for both conceiving a child with one man and for not being able to do so with another. I am not certain how I would get over the heartbreak, even though you would be perfectly within your rights to end our engagement. But you must know the truth, and I pray that the absolute goodness I see in you runs deep enough to cover this potential barrier between us.

I don't want to lose this, Robin, to lose us, no matter how new and fragile our relationship may be.

I missed your kisses last night, the feel of your beard brushing against my cheek, the warmth of your mouth just beneath my ear, the smell of pine and earth that clings to you and does things to me I find difficult to put into words. I missed snuggling Roland and cradling Liza, missed Hood's slobbery good-bye and the manner in which the sun sets over your barn. I missed being a part of our new family as I laid on sheets that felt far colder than they actually were. God help me-I am falling in love with you already.

I need you Robin, far too much for my own good, and far too quickly than prudence should allow. So I hope that this family we are trying to piece together is still intact after I confess my secret to you later today. For I shall confess it, Robin. It is time. I care for you too deeply to leave you in the dark any longer.

* * *

 

April 13, 1867

Dearest Regina,

It feels odd to write by dawn's breaking rays rather than the glowing light of the lamp, but the house is still quiet as no one has dared yet to stir from their slumber except for me. The coffee scalds my throat as I sit at the table and attempt to organize my thoughts, thoughts so scattered and strong I fear that ink and paper will do them little justice. For last night, you confessed to me that your womb is more than likely barren and that the two of us will probably never conceive a child together.

How your body shook as words that sliced into you were whispered into the sunset, how icy your hands felt even when encased within my own. Your fears that I might despise you for such a fact still burn in my chest as the remnants of your tears still stain my shirt. I thank you for confiding the truth to me, regardless of how painful it was for you to do so, and I hope to God that your mind has been put to rest knowing that three children are more than enough for me, that adding you and Henry to my life completes me in a manner I never believed possible. I now have far more than I deserve, and what man wouldn't count himself fortunate to have two sons, a precious daughter and such a wife as you.

I do not need another baby, Regina. But dear God, I need you.

If the Almighty sees fit to send another child our way, then we shall rejoice and love him or her just as much as we do our others. But know that my heart is already filled to capacity with the four of you tucked away inside it. I did not seek out a wife for the purpose of having more children, after all. I was looking for a woman who could love Roland and Liza as if they were her own, who could help with the day to day challenges of life on our farm, and could be a life companion for me. The fact is that you fulfill all of these expectations and surpass the loftiest of my dreams, even after reading your letters and falling in love with the idea of who you would be. For reality of who you are, Regina, is vastly beyond any idea I could conjure in this muddled head of mine.

Last night as I felt the tension ease from your body and warmth return to your fingers, it took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to scoop you up in my arms and kiss you until neither of us could breathe. The fact that our children were sleeping just a few rooms away hardly mattered to me, and I now suspect that once we are properly wed, you will have to remind me to behave until we retire to our bedroom. We've already scandalized Mrs. Lucas to a degree, I fear, although neither she nor Marco said anything reproachful as I explained how you'd fallen asleep after a challenging day and that I had carried you to my bed as I was loathe to wake you. I have no doubt they will keep the fact that you spent the night here last night to themselves-after all, they live with more than their fair share of gossip simply because he lives in the old cabin on her property, the fact that he works for her only serving to tantalize people's imaginations even further. I actually think the old boy winked at me just before they left.

How wrong is it of me that I am elated that you fell asleep in my arms last night, even though your exhaustion was the result of physical and emotional fatigue? Can it truly be a sin that I reveled in the weight of your body lying on top of my own, that I noted the softness of your curves, the scent of rosewater in your hair, that I fantasized about the warmth of your womanhood hidden from me beneath layers of fabric? If such thoughts brand me a sinner, then a sinner I shall be, for after carrying you to my bed and tucking you beneath the quilts, thoughts of you continued to fill my mind, even as I returned to the sofa that felt bare and lonely without you.

Everything about you fascinates me, Regina. I actually counted the freckles on your neck as you rested upon my chest. There are thirteen of them-did you know that? I also discovered a crown-shaped birthmark neatly hidden away near the swell of your right breast, one that tempted me to the point of breaking as it begged for my touch. Perhaps I should not have let my gaze wander down your open neckline when you were not awake to challenge my boldness. But your skin is perfection, the slope of your neck a work of art, your jawline a beacon for the lips of this starving man.

How I long to kiss every inch of you, to learn your contours, to savor the tastes and textures that are uniquely you, to bring you to the heights of pleasure you confided to me you have never experienced. That the one man with whom you shared your body used you for his own fulfillment and left you wanting makes me despise the bastard even more. Please let me assure you that shall never be the case in our marriage bed. I shall always strive to see to your needs first. Always.

Soon the house will begin to stir and life will resume its regular rhythm and pace. But simply knowing that you're here now and that this-this new life we're building together is true-well, it makes the sunrise all the more enchanting and the morning air all the sweeter. May your scent linger on my pillows and fill my senses when I lie down to sleep tonight.

* * *

 

April 13

I am enough.

You told me that I am enough, that you've chosen me, even when no one has ever chosen me before. I have never been enough for anyone, yet I am enough for you. How is this possible?

I am lying here in the darkness, giddy as a schoolgirl, unable to sleep as I secretly wish I was tucked into your bed rather than the one in Mrs. Lucas's guest room. How wicked does it make me that I relished waking up in your bed this morning, that I stretched out fully and lingered on your sheets, that I buried myself into your pillow simply so I could breathe in your scent? How evil am I for wishing you had been lying beside me while I did all of these things? Dare I tell you that I dreamed of your kisses lingering in places I've never allowed anyone to kiss before?

Our wedding day cannot arrive quickly enough for me, Dearest Robin, and I find myself counting down the days. Hope, it would seem, has found me at last.


	3. Chapter 3

April 18

Tomorrow we shall marry.

When I gave birth to Henry, I gave up all hope of one day becoming a proper wife. But worse than that, I believed that my actions had robbed my son of the opportunity of ever having a good father, one who would love and accept him as his own and care for him the way he deserves. Then you came into our lives, and everything changed. You make it very evident that neither the fact that Henry was conceived out of wedlock nor that he is not yours by blood mattes one whit, and that means more to me than anything I could ever wish for myself. He adores you-wants to be more like you, has even asked me if he can start calling you Papa immediately after the wedding. You have no idea what that means to me.

Well, perhaps you do, for you have told me repeatedly how you feared that no woman would accept and raise Liza as her own because of the circumstances of her birth. Yet loving that little girl requires no effort at all, and when she reaches those pudgy arms of hers out to me and snuggles into my chest, I forget that I didn't give birth to her. Parenting is a choice, and becoming a mother to your two precious children is an honor I do not take lightly. From this time tomorrow, they shall be mine just as assuredly as Henry is.

Can I tell you again how strange yet wonderful it is to know that you do not view me as a fallen woman worthy of censure but rather as a woman with whom you have chosen to spend your life and to mother your children? That when you caress my cheek or kiss my lips, all of the shame of my past seems to melt into a puddle at my feet? That strolling through town on your arm makes me feel as though I've just emerged from a cocoon of censure and am allowed to spread my wings for the first time in my life? I am so giddy with happiness I fear I may not sleep tonight. It's difficult for me to believe this is truly happening, that tomorrow night I shall be sleeping in your bed rather than here in Widow Lucas's guest room, that your body will provide me with a warmth far more intimate than that any quilt can provide. Of course, after the way you kissed me earlier this evening, I have to wonder just how much sleep I shall actually be granted on our wedding night. I somehow think the answer to that is very little.

My skin is still tingling in wake of your caresses, my lips still burning from the imprint of your own upon them. You draw feelings out of me I've never known, Robin, sensations that stagger me with their intensity and persistence and carry me into dreams from which I am loath to wake. Would you be shocked to know that I touched myself last night in order to quell the ache that wouldn't let me rest? Would you be scandalized to learn that my own hand brought me pleasure even as my lips breathed your name, that I trembled in the darkness, imagining what it will be like to feel all of you inside my body while your lips explore me in places some would deem perverse? I somehow doubt you would, and for that, I am thankful. I am weary of living under the self-righteous judgment of those who prefer condemnation to grace and deem our bodies as shameful. I am ready to live freely with you, to be your wife in every way without reservation, to finally be at peace with who I am.

* * *

 

Dearest Regina,

Today is the day. In a matter of hours, we shall speak vows and bind our lives together. I shall look into your eyes and be able to call you my wife rather than my intended. I shall be able to kiss you in places on your body that have been hidden to me, places I look forward to revealing in all their splendor and beauty. I cannot wait to bring you home tonight.

_Home_. How different the word feels as I write it in my journal, how it dances from my quill to the page, how it warms me in a manner I'd nearly forgotten after I lost Marian. This home will feel complete again with you and Henry inside it, for as much as I love my children, there has been an emptiness that can only be filled by a life companion. How thankful I am that my new life companion will be you.

How thankful I am that I actually placed that advertisement for a wife. I nearly talked myself out of it, you know. Several times, in fact. But as I rocked and walked with Liza for hours one night, as I heard Roland stir fitfully in his sleep, I decided I would take a step into the unknown for the sake of my children, if not for myself. I did so with trembling hands and a dry mouth, and the day that your letter arrived, I very nearly refused to open it out of absolute fear. How thankful I am that curiosity combined with fatherly determination triumphed over nerves and prompted me to open and read your response. The tightness in my chest eased, my breathing steadied somewhat as your letter took root and began to blossom in what I had feared to be barren ground. Now, because of you, Dearest Regina, what was once frozen has sprung back to life.

I must stop writing now and get the children and myself ready, for we have a wedding to attend this afternoon, one I have no intention of missing. Until then, Regina. I know you will be the most beautiful bride for whom a man could wish.

I shall meet you at the altar.

* * *

 

April 19

I am your wife.

I am struggling to find words adequate enough to describe the emotions bubbling over inside my chest this morning, but as I sit here and watch you sleep, I must try, for this is a moment I want to press into memory forever. It is odd, feeling somewhat sore and stretched in places rarely discussed, but God in heaven, such tenderness is a small price to pay for the ecstasy that brought it about and one I will gladly pay again and again.

My God, Robin. How you made love to me last night.

Parts of our wedding day are a blur, I must confess, regardless of the small audience in attendance and the tiny yet perfect details seen to by Widow Lucas. The wedding cake, the flowers, the fact that Marco is quite an adept fiddler, each individual item in itself was far more than I could have ever imagined. Henry and Roland looked so handsome in their suits, although I must admit to missing my youngest son's floppy curls that were trimmed into as much submission as much as they could be.

Have I mentioned how much I love the fact that I can now officially refer to Roland and Liza as my son and daughter? There is such a rightness to it that warms me deeply. My family feels complete now. Actually, I suppose it would be more appropriate to say our family. _Ours_. What a powerful word. How it changes absolutely everything. From my shame to our marriage, from my illegitimate son and your illegitimate daughter to our children, from my solitude to our family, from my loneliness to our love. I do believe that _our_ is the most beautiful word in the English language.

Speaking of our baby girl, Liza looked absolutely adorable in her new dress, even if her unruly locks kept trying to take center stage and made it look as if we did not even bother to comb her hair. Mr. Nolan dotes on her, as I am certain you've noticed, and after the ceremony he referred to her as a burst of wildfire. It is almost frightening how accurate his assessment of both her hair and personality is.

Speaking of Mr. Nolan, I think he may be sweet on my Aunt Mary Margaret. The fact that you secretly arranged for her to be here for our wedding, that you both paid for and booked her passage, that you arranged for her to stay with Widow Lucas for a few weeks so she can get to know you and the children might be the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. Well, besides Aunt Mary Margaret taking me in and giving me a place to live after I discovered I was expecting Henry. I was so surprised to see her when I walked into the church, I nearly squealed as I walked down the aisle. Have her here means the world to me. But I believe you already know that.

You seem intent upon seeing to my happiness, and that is something I've never before experienced. Now I get to experience it every day of my life. When you took my hand within your own, when you repeated the vows spoken by Reverend Hopper and gazed into my eyes as if you could see forever, I had to keep reminding myself that this was really happening, that maybe, just maybe, I shall be given a chance at a happy ending after all. It still seems somewhat unreal to me, but then I look over to the bed-our bed-and see you sleeping peacefully, your bare chest on full display for me to both view and appreciate. I remember how it felt beneath my fingertips, how the smattering of light hair on your chest tickled my breasts as our bodies pressed together when you were buried inside me. I can still taste the salt of your skin on my tongue, can feel the stirrings of fresh desire as they tingle and tease my inner thighs and nipples, and I am tempted to lay my quill and journal aside and return to your side beneath the quilts.

How would you react if I awakened you with my hand? Would you be scandalized by your wife initiating sex, or would you grin that devilish grin of yours and let me have my way with you? I am fairly certain I know the answer to that, and so I shall abandon this entry and return to your side to test this theory so I can know for certain.

* * *

 

April 19

You're a minx, Regina Locksley. And by God, I love you for it.

How thankful I am that Widow Lucas and your Aunt Mary Margaret volunteered to watch the children last night. It was lovely to have some time to ourselves without having to worry about little eyes seeing something they shouldn't or little ears hearing the sounds you coaxed out of me this morning when you woke me up in the most incredible way possible. I adore the fact that you feel comfortable enough to explore my body the same way I've already come to love exploring yours, even though we've been husband and wife less than twenty-four hours.

You have initiated a craving inside me I fear may never be sated as long as we both shall live. For you are exquisite, Regina. Every plane of your body, every small expanse of skin, every freckle, every hair, even the marks left by childbirth you feared I would find unattractive. You are a feast for a starving man, a goddess worthy of worship and adoration, a woman who has suffered much yet possesses an incredible capacity for love and tenderness. The trust with which you honored me by placing your heart and body into my keeping humbles me to my very core. Kissing you feels like coming home, and being inside your body completes me in a way I find nearly impossible to put into words. Watching you respond to my touch, feeling you come apart around me….I have no words for the fire you've so expertly kindled and now stoke with each glance and every touch, regardless of how innocent in nature it might be.

And as I watch you slumber after our morning love-making, I relish simply being able to gaze at you openly without fear of censure or reproof. I love that I can slide in the bed beside you and cradle your nakedness, that I can touch what before remained hidden and openly confess the thoughts I have held at bay. For I love you, Regina Mills Locksley. Within a short time, you have become a trusted friend, a mother for my children, a lover, a partner, and a confidante.

And I count myself the most fortunate man on earth that I now have the privilege of calling you my wife.


End file.
